Parting Arrival
by A m r a k l o ve
Summary: "It's okay," she whispers, caressing his hair, "I'm here." He wraps his arm around her and rests his head on the pillows, his chin above her head. He feels guilt for the first time. / Pre-700.
1. Trust

A/N: Because the angst that Naruto Gaiden has put me through is too much, I decided to write this even angstier plot. Sorrynotsorry.

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"Sasuke-kun?" Tears were rolling down her rosy cheeks, staining what once he thought what his to take. She was crying, standing aghast and useless on a field of dying flowers. The dry petals of each of them were fragile and ready to take off with the wind, with the right amount of force, just like the woman in the midst of it all. Heavy with immense strength but light as a plume with weakness.

Useless; pathetic; stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He hears his name being whispered a second time, and then he's lifting his gaze from petite ankles and trembling legs, to slender thighs and tiny waist. But he doesn't want to stare into her eyes, "Sasuke-kun?" He doesn't want to, he doesn't need to do this.

Her green, deep sea of uneasiness and emotions–and fear and love and everything that he can't stand–would make him feel guiltier than he already is, were he to gaze at it. She's everything he can't stand.

The clear is ample and to the sides he can see trees, and soon, the sun is there no more and thunder roars in the sky. Although the clear is expense, the sky above them seems to shrink with every breath he takes, constricting his body in a feral embrace.

His head is pounding.

As his eyes go up and up and up along her body, he sees her hands. They're shaking, sweaty with nervousness and something he can't decipher. His eyes reach her stomach—covered by a red top which is strangely redder than usual, dirty with a darker colour imprinted on the right side—her chest, and stops at her neck.

"Why did you leave?"

And those words make his eyes drop to fragile ankles and trembling legs once again.

They're in a field full of lies and despair, and he only sees darkness even with the new sun radiating off her presence near.

" _Sasuke-kun?_ "

He grabs at his hair.

No.

"Why did you leave me?"

She's crying, he can feel she's crying, can feel her sobbing into the lost abyss of his soul. She's taking steps. She's reaching to him. He can feel her getting closer; he can taste her scent.

 _No._

"Sakura," he spits, suddenly unaware of the close proximity and the scarce atmosphere. He closes his eyes for a moment when her lips brush against his neck, favouring the manner her hands are traveling up to his hair locks. He opens his mismatched eyes, still looking down, concentrating his vision on her stained collarbone.

"Come back, Sasuke-kun," she whispers, "I miss you."

He doesn't feel anything; he doesn't want to look up.

But her words choke in the dry air and he's tempted to, for a moment, "Sakura, stop," he has to bite back in order to stop feeling his fingers twitch with the inexplicable need to crush her skull in his rough hands. He's not a monster–he must control the urge.

"You killed her, you hear me?" He frowns, overly confused, "you killed our baby."

And then the flowers are there no longer and his eyes are pouring crimson and she's bleeding with blood that is not hers but of their little girl.

He lets his right arm drop to his sides, staring at nothing in particular.

No. It can't be. It mustn't be.

The previously flower field is now vacant of any flora; it's a deserted area now.

 _Sakura._

"Sasuke-kun?"

"Sakura."

"Stop it, Sasuke-kun, you killed her!" He didn't, how could he? He's not a monster, he's not. "You're killing me!"

He growls under his breath, his knuckles white. "Stop!" He yells.

"Look at me, Sasuke-kun," her hands are on his cheeks, and he can't hear her sobs anymore over the sound of his ears ringing.

His fingers twitch. He can't touch her.

He'll look at her. He'll look at those pools of soft, summer grass and smooth caresses. He can.

But when he musters up the courage to lift his eyes high enough to look, barely, at her chin, it's already too late.

He wakes up.

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"Sasuke-kun?"

With something close to a scream of agony, he almost doubles over and throws up on the fine carpet of the dimly lit room. Almost. Sakura is holding him, with her legs on either side of his hips, and her hands on his neck, chin, anything she can get a hold of with him trying to get out, trying to avoid her like a plague.

"It's okay," she whispers, caressing his hair, "I'm here."

He looks at her, genuinely confused for the first time in years, brow deepened upon finding the source of his torture, "Sakura..." He whispers.

"Yeah, I'm here," he can make out how she lifts the corners of her lips into a grand smile. For a second, he thinks it's probable that he may never know how she can stand this. Him. Nights of torture and days of suffering and pain. "It's alright, Sasuke-kun," she reassures him, calmly, "it was just another dream."

Nightmare, he thinks, is better fitting.

Then, just as he is beginning to calm down and his sympathetic nervous system is less active, a loud cry is heard from the room next door.

The system kicks in right once more. His eyes are soon wide, looking at his wife in alarm, "is that–"

"Yes, it is," her usually soothing voice is suddenly not so tranquillising to him for a moment, and he's more anxious than before as he doesn't believe her. The dream had felt so stupidly real. "I don't know how she slept through all of this, really, it was about time," she laughs off, shrugging herself from on top of him. He quickly grabs on to her waist.

"Wha–"

"You're okay," he whispers, bringing her closer to his form, covering his face with the aroma coming from her floral hair—of fields with colourful, alive flowers and laughter and children and love and everything that he admires. She's everything he admires. They both are.

He remains holding her close for a little more than two minutes, before letting go and watching her give him an apologetic smile, standing up to attend to their baby—alive, loved by his father and mother, alive, _alive_.

He stares at the space where she left, hearing the hushed, soft voice of Sakura, probably rocking Sarada in her arms while whispering sweet things the baby doesn't even comprehend.

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She returns an hour later, and, unsurprisingly, her husband is with his back to the door, and his eyes are staring at the closed window of their bedroom. Sakura sighs.

As soon she climbs on the bed, next to him, she inches closer to his back and starts tracing little symbols with no meaning on the bare skin with hopes of getting him to talk first.

"Um..." She's unsuccessful and fruitless and, after minutes, she gives in first, per usual, "was it the same dream?"

She's met with no possible answer. She knows what it means. "Hey, don't worry," she voices, confident, "nothing is going to happen. We are a family now, right?"

No answer is heard. She focuses on the wide, faded scars adorning his back. She tries to find other words to say. Tries to think about that dream.

The dream that makes her heart ache and his body burn with hatred toward his own thoughts—he doesn't want to explain, he never does, but he's told her that it's nothing countless times and she trusts him enough to believe him. It's the dream that has plagued him with guilt. It's a dream dreamt every night for the past week.

He leaves her; he kills Sarada; he hates her; she hates him.

That's all she knows from the quick, first seconds after he usually awakens in horror and perspiration, when he murmurs words that are close to incoherent about what had happened—and that's all he wants her to know.

He doesn't talk. His breathing is well paced and calm against her hand. But she knows he isn't asleep, she can feel his chakra out of control.

She's tired; this has happened enough times, she muses. So, in one last attempt at making him talk to her, she bites her lower lip, "I love you, Sasuke-kun," she breathes.

Very slowly, he turns around, then, and doesn't look at her verdant, worried eyes in the darkness of the room. He wraps his sole arm around her and rests his head on the pillows, his chin above her head.

She feels his hold tightening for a minute and then loosening gradually, and she understands—but also she doesn't, because they're supposed to be okay, right? Then why was he having nightmares of killing them all every night for the last week? Then why was he preoccupied with everything? Then why did he feel guilt for the smallest things? She sees it all the time now in his eyes, he can't fool her anymore.

He was happy when Sarada was born a few months ago, he was happy a month ago, he was happy two weeks ago. But a week ago—and now—he is not happy anymore, and she doesn't know why.

She dreams that night of unanswered questions and he dreams of a deep void he can't escape from.


	2. Puzzle Pieces

**A/N:** Hey! I hope I didn't take too long to update, I'm also writing my other fanfic at the same time. I tried making it longer than the first chapter but I guess this one serves as development and such. Well, I'll make the next chapter longer then, this one is almost two thousand words which is not much but whatever xD See ya! (Disclaimer cuz Naruto is not mine, and leave some reviews! A big thanks for the people that left their wonderful comments.) Weeee

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He wakes up to the sound of a bird outside the window. A trivial thing, but all it took for his eyes to dart open. Not the sunlight streaming through the window, nor the casual children running along the streets—so early in the morning and with so much energy to start the day, he wishes he could be like that, but he doesn't want to remember his childhood years all that much. Just a bird in all its chirping glory on his window sill. A close singing, but not quite, that leaves in its wake a restless, tired man.

Tired. Plagued by nightmares. Fatigued. Restless. An insomniac who sleeps too much for his own liking. That is what he has become. Not a murderer. Not a broken object to throw about. But a man full of doubt and worry.

It is when the bird leaves that he runs a hand over his face and raises his body with weighting effort to sit on the bed. He hesitates, for a minute, basking under golden rays of sunlight in the peace of the morning.

Then he stands up, puts on his casual clothes, and leaves the house.

He couldn't feel Sakura's presence in the house since he woke up; and neither could he for Sarada.

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He finds them at the park. Sakura is sitting on a bank; Sarada on the baby stroller. He notices she's smiling at a very pregnant Hinata, soon to expect.

Sasuke stays glued on his spot, long meters separating him from the conversation.

He still can make out a few words, though, and looks away to create some form of privacy. He starts walking away on the opposite direction. Sakura catches his still-spiky locks of hair on the street, later disappearing in the mass of people.

He goes training and she stays with Hinata until dinner.

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There are no flower fields in Konoha. He has seen the flowers and the colours but not the fields. Never the fields that plague him when his satellite is visible in the dark sky. No flower fields like the one in his ominous nightmare.

He has known the village for quite a long time now to admit this fact. And in the village of the leaf, the sole mention would be disastrous, for its reputation, if it had fields with a dying verdant—the opposite of the usual vivid green.

There are no dry petals or surging winds that blow his breath away. There is no grey sky; surging clouds; the sobbing echo of the atmosphere penetrating his aching ears. No deserted lot where once wilting plants and worthless pollen flying made the landscape gloomy and all the more tragic.

There is certainly—fortunately—no Sakura crying her heart out in front of him, against deaf earring, for his crimes; the things he has done to hurt her. There are no news about his newborn baby dying by his bloodied, dirty hand—another sin to add to the million he already has. There are no tears in Sakura's eyes anymore. Here, his eyes can look at her face with no remorse whatsoever, contrary to his dreams.

In Konoha, there is only peace; care and affection; a sense of love; harmony in the leaf. In Konoha, nothing exists more than the joy, the happiness, of every citizen and every traveler, under the rules of Kakashi. In Konoha, there is always a sun.

But, in his mind, there's only dread and a deadly knowledge and something pulling at his windpipe without his consent. So many regretful thoughts in the back of his mind—guilty, guilty, _guilty_ , he mentally repeats over and over. A hollow emptiness that he'll feel for the next twelve years. Hatred for all that he's done in the past, all that he tried to fix in the years after the war, but couldn't—all that he's yet to do.

He knows why he dreams of Sakura calling him a monster; he knows why he dreams of the loneliness. It's all soon to come.

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His proposal was unexpected. After accompanying Sakura to her house, like so many nights before, he took out the box holding the engagement ring and opened it before her very eyes. No kneeling; no sweet words. He asked a simple question and she agreed (after gazing at the ring and then at him for the longest time). After that, he slept at her house more often—on the couch, of course, or maybe on her bed but with them barely touching. They didn't tell anyone about the engagement until a month before the actual ceremony.

He would wake up before her and make breakfast for the both; and she would wake up to the smell of food, an absent Sasuke present. He went training in the morning and sometimes at night—not often, though.

Sasuke never agreed to having his left arm back—something about having to atone for his sins and carrying the weight of what he has done. He had promised her, one day while chatting away memories at a restaurant, that if the weight on his shoulders would ever lift up and leave, he would get his arm back. But until then, he would have to learn to deal with one.

One conversation about the topic is all they had, and no more days were directed toward it.

Their wedding day was a kiss. A big smile in his charcoal eyes and on her lips. Loud congratulations, enormous gifts given, soft piano keys pressed in the background. The small party afterward was more private and with less, more familiar, guests. The bride and the groom barely danced, but when they stood from their seats to grace the dance-floor, the music changed to a slower tempo and everyone was looking. Naruto was smiling, Lee was wiping a tear, and Ino was next to Sai with happiness written all over her face for her friend. Sasuke had put his only hand on the small of her back—the absent arm covered by his outfit—slightly moving his feet with hers. Sakura had a blush on her cheeks, a gentle smile adorning her lips; soft hands around his neck. Following the music. His intense eyes made her blush all the way to their house. Theirs.

Their wedding night was a touch. Flushed cheeks and hesitant bodies—low whispers, heavy grunts, scratches on his back, and high moans.

He asks her to come with him in his travels a week later.

Sarada was born—after cravings and walks in the park and his first " _I love you_ " and two loud blonds making fun of him, getting every thing Sakura asked for, and the first kick and a lot of hospital check-ups at random local villages, and tears—nine months after that first night. Sarada was born when the sun rose from behind trees and bushes; she was born in the early day.

That same day, Sakura saw Sasuke carry her for the first time. She will never forget the mental image of her husband touching their daughter's tiny forehead with a suave kiss, and how his eyes burnt with never-actually-shed tears. He stayed with them until Karin had to practically shove him outside the room because Sakura had not slept since she gave birth. She needed the rest, and he let her have it. He came in the room the next day and they left to Konoha that same day with Sarada.

When Sarada is approximately one year old, he leaves again, and this time she doesn't come along.

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"Sasuke-kun?" He looks at her. "She has your eyes," she murmurs, caressing her daughter's matt of black hair—also a present from his bloodline. Sarada is laying in between his wife's thighs, which are pressed together. Sakura is sitting next to him on the back porch of the house. Her arms are enveloping their daughter.

"She doesn't open her eyes that much," he retorts, gazing at the sun in the horizon, setting for the afternoon. So punctual. Always the same; always leaving. He frowns, for a moment.

Sakura shakes her head.

"She's still sensitive," she's playing with her small fingers now, delicately, "she will, eventually, open her eyes more often to look at us."

He hears something about "adjusting to the light" and "she's so little" in the background, but he's not really listening anymore.

Sasuke purses his lips and catches a glance in their direction, focusing on Sarada's pale skin, pert nose, face contour. He doesn't really know how such innocence and beauty can be, partly, his creation. It amazes him greatly, the fact that Sarada is his, in a way. But behind those coal pools of eyes and those genes hidden, shown, in the phenotype, lies Sakura in all her presence. He hopes, deeply, that his daughter gets her mother's charisma and personality. He hears Sarada sigh an unspeakable whisper.

"She looks like you."

Sakura opens her eyes wide, looking at him, surprised. In her eyes, their daughter is a small, female picture of him. Anyone who sees her would be able to tell right away; every one of her friends had said she looks like Sasuke a lot more than the mother. Sakura looks to her right. To her husband.

Sasuke doesn't hear her answer. She smiles, caressing Sarada's little cheek and looking at how her lithe arms jerk for a moment involuntarily.

"She's perfect," she whispers, cradling her to her chest and standing up with outmost care. For a moment there, he doesn't know if she's telling him or saying it to herself as fact. He finds it doesn't matter.

He nods, once, but he doesn't think she catches it. Instead, she enters the house to feed their little one.

Sasuke doesn't go inside until he makes out the bright light of the twinkling stars.

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	3. Eternal Love

**A/N:** THE GAIDEN IS KILLING ME OK KILLING **M E** (I can't wait for it to end so I can explode in happy tears). Anyway, I finished this after a bunch of weeks stuck on the same sentence, sadly xD But here it is! And longer than my previous chapters for this story kukuku. A little bit of calm before the storm you could say. Maybe next chapter it's even longer (hopefully), since I've decided everything I need to write. Please review if you can, and lemme know if you still like this silly fanfic of mine. I love you guys ^^

 **P.S:** I may or may not edit this chapter later. I don't like my use of words here. Plus the chapter itself is messy, and it doesn't make sense (or maybe it's just me after reading it a hundred times lol).

*Inserts disclaimer cuz Naruto is not mine. Duh*

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That night, he has another nightmare. It's the same as the other ones, with the slight and important difference of an absence of blood in the ambience. Same constricting feeling in his gut. Same dry fields; same crying Sakura. But then, just before he wakes up, he catches sight of small, black eyes and a little bundle of happiness on his wife's arms.

He doesn't really think about it. After glancing at the clock on the far wall of the bedroom—it's little past three—he decides it's better if he just goes back to sleep. A weightless, blank dream reigns upon him.

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In the morning, when he first opens his eyes to greet a new day, his head hurts. It's a mere pounding on his scalp and underneath—in his brain and all around it, sucking up his energy to get up. He can feel the irascible pain progressing to his eye-zone slowly, and he has the urge to scrub at his eyes in irritation.

Glancing to his left, all he sees are messy sheets and a long crease from where Sakura once lay, creating a silhouette in the space next to him, rumpling the bedsheets.

When he moves to sit up, the pounding intensifies a notch and he has to close his eyes for ten seconds—mentally counting amidst the clouds of torment inside, a large storm accumulating in his head. His day starts with pain, ironically. His lips turn into a frown and his eyes shine with annoyance.

Nothing that a quick shower can't cure.

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Sarada is tiny. So tiny and fragile that she almost fits in one third of her father's arm, measuring the arm from the tip of his fingers to the bone of his shoulder—not that he has held her a lot of times, but she notices every detail when he _does_ hold his daughter. It's a mental image that she has learnt to capture and keep forever in the confines of her once-too-many-times broken, battered and thrown about, picked up and put together, love-filled, enduring heart.

Sarada is tiny. And, Sakura, being the already lithe person that she is, finds that letting the light weight of Sarada rest on her persona is the best feeling she has ever experienced—better, even, than Sasuke's hand caressing her body late in their honeymoon night, or Naruto's bear-hugs that crush her body in a tight embrace, or when she was little and her mother would smile at her after telling her a secret. That, though, she would never admit aloud. She loves Sasuke and Naruto, and her mother. The list is not endless, but it's pretty long if she has to name all the people she loves, really. And if she were to count the people she holds dearest, well, she would use no more than two hands.

Maybe it's a mother thing, but the amount of happiness she feels when her eyes land on her own baby is never too much. Sakura is sure she has never cried out of bare and pure happiness as much as she has since Sarada was born. It overwhelms her whole body in an unfamiliar warmth that she welcomes wholly.

Someone that came out of her. Someone she has created—with her husband. After cravings and pains and laughs and nine months of _mere_ motivation, Sarada was born. And it's one of the best memories she has in her life.

Sarada is tiny and weighs the same as an empty, big cardboard box and her skin is as soft as a feather and she smells as only a baby would. She has near perfect organs too. With no more than a month living in the newly peaceful shinobi world, Sarada has perfect lungs. Sakura knows, because every morning she wakes up to the sound of sniffling and puffs of air from the room adjacent to hers. Luckily, her daughter never has to cry more than a loud wail before her mother is in front of the crib and to the rescue. And Sasuke always wakes up when he hears crying, she notes, although, when he does, she's already gone. He never goes to check; she never asks anything.

This morning, though, Sarada slept soundly through the hours. Only the steady breathing could be heard. It was at nine that Sakura woke up on her own accord, true to her biological clock, and heard nothing from the other room. And when she got there, Sarada was awake. But she was quiet. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slightly irregular, exhaling a long sigh when Sakura's voice was present. Sarada was quiet and attentive to the ambience—a true daughter of shinobi parents, people would say. She had _known_ Sakura was coming, and didn't even try to let any sound escape her, as if waiting, if anything. Waiting for Sakura to appear. As if, Sakura wondered, she could sense her somehow with just a few weeks of life.

She lifted her petite body and held her close and sat on the rocking chair, watching as cute little arms and a matt-black covered head moved toward the smell of food—her chest area.

Later, she hears the sound of water running in the bathroom. Her husband would have to wait for breakfast, she muses.

She looks at Sarada, sucking on her source of nutrients, with eyes tightly closed and fists against her own body. After a few minutes, she releases the pink nub with a soft pop, and Sakura covers herself again with her nightgown, adjusting her daughter in her arms until she thinks she's comfortable enough.

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Sakura directs her index finger to her small hand. It's laying on the soft mattress of the crib; it's resting against Sakura's wishes. It twitches a little, but, other than that, there's complete stillness in the small atmosphere of the room. Nothing happens, as expected.

Sakura stops her own finger, suspended in the air, close to her baby's smooth arm, but not touching it.

Meanwhile, she watches with fascination as her chest rises and falls with supreme coordination; a deep state of relaxation Sakura can't master since the war, unfortunately (and sometimes she thinks, maybe, that's the only thing that has scarred her from the war—being alert all the time for any attacks). She takes a moment to catch with her eyes the curve of her pert nose and the length of her butterfly eyelashes. And she doesn't think there's anything in this world more ethereal and magical than her.

And then, as if the gods are listening and the world is a beautiful place, Sarada _grasps_ it—her suspended finger—for a moment without looking—and this makes Sakura's breath hitch in her throat and her eyes widen with sudden adoration because it's purely coincidental, but it still makes her eyes water with unshed tears—probably without the knowledge that she even did. Then, she moves her hand away from the shaky finger and lets it fall against the soft bedding of the crib once again. Sarada keeps dreaming. Sakura wipes at her eyes, and grips the bars.

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Sasuke's headache, miraculously, really, diminishes after the shower. Nevertheless, and to his dismay, it's still there. Knocking against his mind with no reason to go away. Pounding; drilling holes in his thoughts; delivering a blow to his skull without actually moving, or doing anything. It's probably a response from all the stress anyway.

Albeit he feels he wants to lie down in bed and sleep for days in order to get rid of the discomfort, he chooses to stay planted next to the door with a long-sleeved, white shirt and black, baggy trousers.

He watches as Sakura murmurs things full of love to his daughter—asleep on the wooden crib. He watches her caress black hair and rosy cheeks and the pale expansion of her arms, resting her head on the wood of the crib's side bar.

He, slowly, gets away from the doorframe to stand behind his wife. Memories of a sixteen-year-old male readying a cry of a thousand birds to stab it right through the back of a pink-haired female flash through his mind, quickly, and they leave just as fast. Fortunately, he thinks. It's been years since that, and he doesn't want to recall at all lately. He can't dwell on memories right now. Not when he has her so close.

Still, his hand twitches and he grips air in a tight fist. He lets go; he lifts his hand, slowly. _So close_ ; too close to her back; too close to her alabaster neck.

Sakura lifts her head from the wood and stands at her full, short height when she feels a hand on her left shoulder. Goosebumps run along her body; she whispers his name.

From behind her, he can see Sarada lying down.

Sasuke inches closer to get a clearer view, unconsciously gives her shoulder a light squeeze, and moves his hand over her neck to stroke pale pink tendrils away from the skin to the right side of her neck. His hand stays on her right shoulder.

"She looks so peaceful..." He opens his mouth to say something but the words die too fast, and he just waits. In the midst of the silence, he exhales a long sigh at their daughter's _indeed_ peaceful facade. "She caught my finger a while ago," she mutters, staring at her daughter in amazement, feeling Sasuke's hand on her naked shoulder hesitate, "I guess it was mere reflex, yet she wasn't even awake."

"Coincidence, then," he voices. His head is a mere centimetre away from her awaiting skin and she feels his breath fan the hair at the nape of her neck.

"A very fortunate one," she closes her eyes for a moment when his nose touches the burning skin.

It's, she decides, the second best feeling ever experienced by her.

"Sasuke-kun?"

And then he's planting a kiss on her neck, his warm breath triggering all of her butterflies to form in the pit of her stomach—twisting and turning until she thinks she can't breathe. It's all so fast but slow at the same time and she's sweating an indescribable coldness at his ardent touch, without really perspiring much but a thin glow on her skin. She feels his chapped lips pressing further to soon drift away, her mind reeling over how nice it would feel if his lips were to be _somewhere_ else. Her cheeks heat up involuntarily.

He leaves the juncture between her neck and shoulder and, altogether, the moment is lost and locked in her brain to remember later. His hand slides from her shoulder to his side and his head finds its way to stand still again, spine erect, looking down on her form.

Shows of affection were rare from Sasuke—not everyday does he show any. But then there are _these_ little moments, random and spontaneous, that take her breath away and send her heart into a spiralling frenzy of madness. These little moments make her day.

Sakura turns around. She has to tilt her head upward to stare into his eyes, foreboding and demanding in eating her alive, staring right into her soul. She looks at him in the rays of early light filtering through the curtains of the window, savouring the way his hair is still damp and his eyes are still boring into hers with frivolous, unadulterated lust. She slowly stands on her tip toes, a strong pink hush on her cheeks making itself present, and kisses him on the cheek in front of their slumbering daughter, unaware of the intimate moment between them. Sasuke's face is indifferent, blank. His ears, Sakura notices as soon as she inches away, are a scorching red.

She smiles. And no words are needed.

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Sasuke can't sleep. It's nothing troublesome; nothing to worry about. Too many days have been like this one. So he hustles his feet out on the cold floor and stands up without a sound, looking over the face of his wife sleeping on her side facing him, unbothered. The sheets hide most of her face, and her hair is spread on the pillows like an expensive, elegant piece of art. He can still make out the outline of the diamond on her forehead—and then he looks away with a little upward tilt of his lips, taking a step toward the door. Her breathing is well paced and deep. She's _definitely_ not awake.

Sasuke scratches the idea of showering out of his list of to-do things, as it is too early and he does not want to wake up any of the girls. He mentally scoffs at the name. Eating is also out of consideration. So the only thing he can do is train. It has been a while since the last time he put his battle skills to practice.

He walks out of the room. Standing at the end of the hallway, Sasuke takes two steps forward before he takes note of the half-way-opened door to his left.

 _Sarada._

Training, he mentally repeats to himself. _Training._

But then again there's his daughter and the thought of her sleeping peacefully next door spikes his curiosity.

With cautious steps, he opens the door wider, and enters. He's greeted with the scent of innocence and the epitome of vulnerability. She's lying on her side, arms stretched out in front of her, and nose wrinkling from time to time; mouth partly open.

Training can wait.

Sasuke approaches the crib until he can make out the tiny hairs on the skin of her face, sharingan unconsciously activated in order to keep every detail engraved in his memory.

For a moment, he remembers the story Sakura had commented before. And before he can overthink it, he's reaching for Sarada's small hand. His finger gets closer and closer and her hand twitches. His brow draws closer when he feels an ounce of useless hope.

She never grasps his finger.

After a while, he stands straight again and looks at his daughter once again. Then, he deactivates his sharingan and walks outside, through the halls, and into the night air.

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Sakura stares at the empty space next to her. She had known he left their bed a long time ago. Still, she prefers to let her heart beat widly against her chest instead of getting up to look for him. The thought of the situation getting out of hand doesn't cross her mind once, but she deeply knows, inside. If he's not going to tell her what's going on, then she'll ask.

She feels the front door softly _click_. Her chakra instantly tries to sense his, and recedes back after a while after knowing there's no danger; no way of him leaving her again.

He's nearby.

A small knot in her stomach vanishes and she almost sighs in relief. Sometimes, she thinks, the worry never goes away.

She closes her eyes again and succumbs to sleep—a small smile gracing her pink lips at the knowledge of her husband being in Sarada's room for over half an hour.


	4. Against the Wind

**A/N:** *hides from the garbage being thrown at me* *is trash*

*Inserts disclaimer*

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She opens the door with a swing of her arm.

"Sakura-chan!"

"Shush, Naruto!"

"Wha–"

"She's still asleep," she sighs in slight irritation, with a finger in front of her lips and a hand on her hip, frustrated and at the same time relieved when she doesn't feel Sarada's chakra spike up to signal that she's awake. Naruto's leg pauses midway, between taking a step or not.

"Come here," she ushers him inside, biting back a smile that comes out anyway as soon as she crushes him in a tight embrace. Laughing, he returns it as feverish as her own arms afford to be, and then—five seconds later—places his hands on her pointy, tiny shoulders to separate her from him, in order to take a good look at her. His eyes roam over her messy form, before landing on her own, emerald-painted eyes. Her smile widens and her eyes shine even brighter than before.

"What brings you here?" Turning the volume of her voice down, she asks, noting how his hands move away from her upper body and into the pockets of his dark, worn-out trousers. He circles around her and enters the empty living room. He sits on a couch and leans back.

"I just wanted to pay a visit," he sighs, spreading his legs apart and looking at her, entering the living room after securely closing the door.

"A visit?" She inquires, crossing her arms in front of the couch he's sitting on. "When your wife is days from giving birth?" She sits on the couch, the one in front of him, and watches as he avoids her gaze and laughs nervously. "Can't I visit my best friend?"

She rolls her eyes.

It's obvious the way he hides the truth of his stay, as well as her strong suspicious look. She knows how to make him speak without her even asking for anything.

"How's training with Kakashi-sensei?" The Hokage has given up on reprimanding them about calling him by the name they used when he was still their teacher, a lot of years before the war and the tragedies. There is no way Team Seven is calling him by anything else than sensei—other than the rather sporadic Hokage-sama.

Naruto looks dumbfounded, before scoffing and smiling at her. "How else? I'll be Hokage in no time!" His tone is not the usual loud and beaming tone, but a much quieter one. And she's glad that he remembers for once to lower his voice at her request.

"I know you will," she says, "How's Hinata?"

His eyes widen for a moment before taking the form of a watery sweetness she wishes—only for a second, because things are already good the way they are, and she wouldn't really change anything—she and her husband had. But they have other things, she muses, so she doesn't really think about it; doesn't delve into it too much.

"She's as good as a pregnant woman should be," when her fist aims at him to smack his stupidity away, he quickly recoils. "She's great! We're so excited and we already bought most of the baby furniture even though we don't know the sex yet so we had to choose neutral colours."

"Naruto! I told you to lower your voice!" She whispers, shouting but whispering. As weird as it sounds, Naruto never masters the art of it. He inches away from her, "I'm sorry, Sakura-chan, I-"

"Stupid!" She tries not to hit him, successfully.

Sakura sits back, satisfied at his lack of words and stupefied look and he sighs the fear away, a small drop of sweat running down his left temple.

"She's fine, damn it."

"That's wonderful." She smiles and he smiles back, forgetting the horror he felt a minute ago. Sakura almost rolls her eyes again.

Naruto is like a crystal cup; he is see-through, you could witness every emotion felt from meters away. He carries his heart on his sleeve and still, at the same time, creates an invisible barrier to protect himself, like he had to do when he was a kid. But Sakura doesn't know how to do that. She doesn't know how to control and mask her emotions like Sasuke, and she doesn't know how to wear her heart out without getting hurt, unlike Naruto, who barely gets hurt after years of practice. She's in the middle of it all, and she hates it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Naruto's stare. She stops smiling. The statement comes and it comes uninvited.

"I think Sasuke's going to leave Konoha."

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Sasuke sees the tree fall and he sighs, turning around the look over the myriad of other trees on the ground, fallen by punches and kicks. He quickly makes a series of familiar signs with his one hand and soon all the trees are turned into mere ashes. Straightening out his clothes, he moves to grab his canteen from a rock nearby.

Only to find grey hair and hidden smiles in a person he knows well, leaning on the same tall rock he'd been looking for.

"As the Hokage, I would like it if you refrain from burning down every training ground." Sasuke almost scoffs.

"As if."

He closes the distance and grabs the water recipient, gulping down the liquid like his throat is incessantly burning. Kakashi stops smiling and looks down at his orange, dear book.

Without a shirt on, Kakashi can see, clearly, the arm that he barely has left. Sasuke ignores his ogling and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He puts the canteen down, grabbing his shirt and putting it over his head; long sleeves and dark colours. He almost feels a pang at his ex-student.

Sasuke leans on the rock too, trying to pacify his and looks at him with a weird look in his eyes. Kakashi understands, despite everything. He sighs.

"I can't peacefully work in the tower when one of my dearest shinobi wants to leave again." He deliberately comments, never minding the furrow in Sasuke's brows, or the flicker of angry chakra that spikes inside him.

He closes his book.

He calmly waits, but the rage never comes. Instead, Sasuke passes a hand over his face, all sweat and exhaustion present. "I thought we talked about this." And it is so tiring, even thinking about it, that he wants to sigh with exasperation, but doesn't.

"We did." Sasuke feels frustrated all of a sudden. Then? Why was he bringing it up again?

"So?" Kakashi is slightly dumbstruck by his boldness, uncharacteristic of him—stoic and frank, yes, but not biting into something he knows he's doing wrong. Sasuke is looking at him; and for a moment the Hokage thinks he looks like he's in pain—he bears a hurtful spike in his eye. Kakashi doesn't regret any of this.

"Why are you so adamant on leaving your wife and your daughter?"

The statement itself brings Sasuke to step away from him, the rock, and the sharp, cutting words altogether. How dare he say such things? Him? Wanting desperately to run away from his only family? His parents would be rolling in their graves.

He doesn't need to go through this again. He doesn't.

So he just turns away and starts walking back to the only home he's ever had—Sakura.

"I'm not."

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Sakura's holding Sarada. She sits on the couch in front of Naruto once again and decides to sit next to him, after a minute or two of pondering, so he can see her better.

She started crying right after Naruto yelled—apparently without wanting to—and Sakura didn't waste a second to stand up and rush to her baby. She breastfed her, let her let out her gases on her shoulder, a small towel placed so she wouldn't dirty her clothes. Naruto waited in the living room all along.

Then she comes back as if nothing and sits next to him, smiling at her child and making silly faces at her—who couldn't really understand them, she just made a few noises and that's that. Sakura laughs anyway.

Naruto can't stand it.

Sarada is cute, her small hands are pressed to her body and her mouth is partly open, looking at Sakura like she's the only sun in the universe. And Naruto proudly calls himself uncle of the creature born from his two best friends.

But he can't stand the way she totally ignores his comment and goes on as if nothing is going on. Everything is going on.

Sarada coos in the background of his thoughts.

Sakura smiles at him, and he almost forgets the reason he's here. "Naruto, do you want to hold her?"

She's inching Sarada closer and closer and he finally takes her in his arms. He's surprised at how little she weighs—compared to how much he trains with heavy objects everyday. He lets her rest her head in the underside of his elbow, body trailing along his arm. Sarada sighs slowly—so at peace, so content, that he feels the need to tear up. He gives her to Sakura before anything happens.

"Sakura." She takes her carefully but he doesn't fail to see how her hands shake when she adjusts her in her arms. "I'm serious."

He tries again, but she shakes her head. She doesn't look at him. "No, he isn't."

Her look is so serious; and she looks so sure of herself, that he barely believes it. The only thing he can do is stare like a lost puppy at her. "Sakura, listen to me."

"She's falling asleep, I better put her in her crib." Her voice breaks.

She quietly retreats to the baby's room.

He opens his mouth to talk, but then the entrance door opens and shuts and he doesn't have to look to see who it is. The reason he even came.

He stands up. Now, he can't do anything else. Everything is up to Sasuke to tell her.

He looks at Sasuke and walks past him, brushing his shoulder in the process, without a word.

Sasuke looks as he exits and sighs for the tenth time today.

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She's still in Sarada's room by the time dinner's served and he's waiting to eat with her. He waits. And waits. And waits, sitting on a chair, staring at the food that's gone cold by now. She always comes to eat by this time.

He frowns, and pushes away to stand up. When he gets to the room, she's not there. She's nowhere in the house. The mere fact that that escaped him for so long is out of reach, and he frowns even more at her action. She never leaves the house like this.

He grabs a jacket and the keys and opens the door.

He stops.

 _Sarada._

He can't leave her alone. Closing the door, he runs a hand through his hair. He lies on the bed and waits. And waits. And waits.

Until it's two in the morning and she stands in the foot of their bed, looking at him with ice in her stare.

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"I'm sure Naruto has his reasons for saying that."

"I know, but I didn't let him explain."

"Maybe he's not the one with that job."

Sakura looks at her best friend, long ponytail loose from moving too much in bed. They're in the living room right now, and Sakura shakes her head at how lost she would be if Ino didn't love her this much. A month pregnant, and getting bothered by Sakura. She silently thanks the gods for having such a good friend.

Ino looks at her too, a little smile gracing her pink lips.

She nods. Then, they both stand up from their sitting positions on the chairs, and briefly hug, and Sakura puts every bit of love in it, because she loves her and she's glad she could talk with her so late.

"Now go, forehead. I can't stay here all night," she pushes the lithe rosette toward the door and she hears a tired laugh from the other end.

"I know, I know. You need your beauty sleep," Sakura whispers, turning the knob and glancing at her through the corner of her eye. "Thank you."

Ino nods, flipping her ponytail to add to her self-proclaimed beauty. Sakura narrows her eyes, and leaves. "Pig."

Sai is behind her, with a confused expression. "Was that a girl's night in?"

Ino frowns, "what?"

"It's two in the morning. I read that women chatting this late was called a sleepover, but is ugly not sleeping here tonight?"

Ino shakes her head, and plants a kiss on his pale, soft lips. He smiles.

"Let's go back to bed," she leads him by the hand.

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"Sakura." The name comes out of his mouth automatically, as if his body is programmed to say it every time she appears. Groggily, sleepy, he rubs at his eyes and sits; a small groan coming out at his still raw injuries from his early training—already healing, but barely. The gashes along his torso open at the abrupt action and he nearly winces. "Sakura."

She's still looking at him, now with a broken expression, not moving an inch from the foot of the bed.

Sasuke stands up, despite the pain that curses through him, and approaches her with a knowing look on his face. It seems desperate; the way he almost tumbles at a golden box on the floor; the way he looks at her as if she's slipping from his fingertips; the way he bites his lip when he's close enough to touch her, but doesn't.

And when he's too close, he stops moving, and she still doesn't move at all. Her eyes follow his every movement, to finally land on his dark, shining eyes in the penumbra of the bedroom—she doesn't need a kekkei genkai to see every detail on his face.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes up.

"You left for hours," he murmurs against her face, and he can make out the subtle way her brows furrow close. She doesn't speak, just stares.

"I was," _worried_ , he thinks, _worried because you left without saying anything_ , but he doesn't voice the concern; he bites back the word and looks at her bright, emerald, big eyes. "Where were you?"

There is no answer as she takes a step back, sighing carefully and making a move for the bed. She takes her shirt off and slides her trousers off, leaving her in her underwear and an almost transparent, white undershirt. He watches.

Before she can lie down, though, he envelops her hand in his own, larger one and hopes that she looks at him and _talks_ to him. She does.

"What," she bites out, and it's so rare from her that he tightens his grip more. She firmly places a hand on his broad chest, and pushes, hard enough that he lets a whimper out. A _whimper_.

Sakura quickly takes off her hand and gasps—gasps, because this is Sasuke, her husband, the man she loves, and he just let out a whimper, which not even during the danger of battle he dares let out; not even when he has the horrible nightmares (he screams, horrifyingly horrific, but not ever has he ever let out a whimper as clear as this one).

She looks at him, serious, concern ever present. Sasuke swallows. "I'm _fine_ ," he murmurs under his breath (and she notices his breathing, for once, is laboured and slightly harsh and she frowns).

"Bullshit. Take off your shirt and sit on the bed."

He does what he's told—not because her tone is hard and unforgiving, and not because she has cursed for once in front of him, but because his chest hurts and he doesn't want to admit it; he knows that she won't stop pestering him until she can heal his wounds.

She sits in front of him with flickering green chakra and proceeds to mend the tissues in just five minutes. She doesn't look at him; she focuses on her task and he doesn't speak once in the process.

She doesn't notice—or think about it—but, for the rest of the night, she doesn't touch the topic that burns inside of her. She doesn't voice out the questions she has. If he's going to leave the village or not, she doesn't know yet. And as her hands grace the curve of his damaged collarbone—a deep gash that she abhors for hurting him—she finds that, maybe, she doesn't want to know for the moment.

When she's done, her hands linger for a second. Her eyes search his. He's close to tell her something—anything; close to reach out and touch her. But she lifts the warm covers and lies on her side of the bed; her back turned to his void gaze.

He does the same, on his side of the bed.

Glancing over his shoulder at the soft curve of her backside, his fingers itch to embrace her in his arms (arm) like he does every other night. He feels her stir and he turns again to face the wall opposite from him.

They don't touch that night. Strangely, he doesn't find that the least rare.

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	5. Begin Again

**A/N** : So I'm sticking to rating M for _It's a Humble Path_ , and I'm changing this one to M too. Go figure. Also, next chapter is full of goodies, kukuku.

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Sakura wakes up to a face. She calmly opens her eyes to look at long eyelashes and pale complexion. Sasuke is on his side, facing her. His breathing is deep and calm; his chest heaves up and down with patience. His face is of a serenity she only gets to admire herself—nobody else in this world would ever see Uchiha Sasuke with this much peace written on his face at six in the morning, but her. His lips are partly open; his hair tussled and messy, falling merrily over his eyes and forehead.

It's then that she notices it, amidst the bright lighting the sun provides and the warm atmosphere of the bedroom—being this close to him, it shouldn't be so hard to take note on. But she had never realised it before. Sure, she looked at her husband everyday, but not like this (not full of details). There are deep bags under his eyes, just like the ones she used to have here and there when she spent days without sleeping at the hospital, and the colour is of a darkish brown that makes her heart ache. How had she _not_ noticed before? They're blatantly obvious. The more she focuses on the long lines, the less she is surprised. The recurring nightmares probably left a mark on him.

Sakura extends her hand slowly, blinking at the little light that comes out of the far away window, eyes focusing with easy steps on his face.

She wakes up, and the first thing she does is admire her husband, who lies next to her, sleeping soundly.

Her fingers touch his cheek, and she—with the patience of a thousand turtles—takes each lock of ebony hair and lifts it up to the side of his face, getting them away from his eyes. She runs her hand through his hair when she's done, fingers touching his clean scalp and massaging with an affection she only possesses. For a second, she wants to smooth the stressed shades under his eyes, but she retreats the thought quickly.

He doesn't wake up—she's a medic, she would know if he did—and she can't help but wonder if it's because she's done this so many times already in his life.

Every nightmare; every nuisance he's ever had at night since they married, she has always tried to appease him. She has run her hand through his hair more than enough for him to get used to the feeling.

She wonders, and she reaches the conclusion that, yes, that is the reason why he doesn't wake up.

Always being a light sleeper, this is the only reason she can accept.

His eyes move from under his eyelids and she pauses, noticing how his heart beats with a slightly different tempo. Her wondering shatters.

Her hand retreats to under the covers, holding the warm fabric close to her face. As long as he doesn't talk about it, she's fine.

When she closes her eyes, and falls asleep once again, he looks at her under the roof of a past, broken argument.

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Sakura holds Sarada close. She feeds her from her breasts, sucking in sharp breaths from time to time when Sarada pinches her flesh too hard. Her nipples are only _so_ strong.

She suddenly loses a pink, round source of food, and starts crying a little at the loss of nutrients and antibodies. Sakura lets out a tiny laugh at her daughter's sense of direction; so little she doesn't see very well yet, so little she doesn't know where something that's right in front of her is.

She moves her in the right direction, connecting her mouth with the warm milk, and she continues sucking as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Sakura sighs on the rocking chair.

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"Sasuke-kun?"

"Aa."

Her husband keeps seated on the back porch, the sharp slices of stone against metal making Sarada let out a small wail.

He stops sharpening his weapons, then. It's so instantaneous, so unconscious, that she almost smiles.

Sakura keeps softly patting her back, with a blue, little towel on her shoulder in case Sarada lets out any gases and lets out some milk from her mouth. She looks at him, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. And then, against the little sounds Sarada's making against her ear, and the smouldering look her husband gives her, she remembers what she was going to say, and briefly smiles.

"Would you like to come with us?" He arches an eyebrow. He looks at Sarada from the corner of his eyes, and then at Sakura, again, fully facing them now. "We're going to visit aunt Hinata and uncle Naruto."

Sasuke doesn't directly answer the question, but she's known him for so many years that he doesn't need to, anyway.

He stands up slowly and leaves his weapons aside. Sakura grabs the baby car and puts Sarada in it. And they walk to the door.

Before she can leave the house, though, she hears him from behind her.

"He is _not_ her uncle."

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They're sitting in the living room of the future Hokage's house, and Sakura is rocking Sarada who's still inside the car, trying to get her to sleep. Naruto is in the kitchen eating ramen alone (Sasuke had asked—forced—him to leave the living room for the sake of his daughter. "You can't throw me out of my own living room!" To which Sasuke replied with a "dobe," and that's that). Naruto stayed in the kitchen since then, and Sakura doesn't know whether to feel sad about not being able to talk to her best friend or happy about not being able to, in the first place, face him after his past announcement the day before. So she just sits on the couch and concludes that it doesn't matter. He said what he wanted to say and she's glad that he trusts her to tell her these types of things. And she voiced out her disagreement; he left after that. But still, she doesn't know the nature of the _statement_ itself. Why would he say such thing? Like Ino told her, maybe he did have a reason for declaring something like that out of the blue.

She glances at the kitchen, but she can't see anything with a wall and a door in the way.

She sighs.

Hinata is standing, looking at Sarada with shiny, lilac eyes. "She's very beautiful, Sakura-san," she whispers, low enough to not disturb the baby, but loud enough for her to hear it. Sakura smiles. "She resembles Sasuke-kun a lot, too."

Sakura nods and Sasuke stays beside her on the couch, staring at his own daughter. "She does." She bites her lip, observing the woman, "I get that a lot." Giggling at her own comment, she keeps rocking Sarada's car.

Hinata jumps, a little horrified, hands in front of her in the defensive. She tries to explain. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm sure she'll grow up to behave as lovely as her mother." She sits, the growing belly making her more tired than any shinobi should ever be.

Sakura waves a hand dismissively, "I was joking, Hinata. Thank you, though. I hope he doesn't get everything from my baby. The looks are enough."

Pointing at Sasuke, Hinata smiles a little. He decides not to correct her and tell her that it's _their_ baby. It'd be useless anyway. When Sakura's with her friends, she can be _really_ cruel to him.

"How's little Boruto doing?"

To this, he doesn't pay attention. Standing up, he takes hold of the baby car where Sarada is, sleeping, and leads it to a spare room down the hall. With a series of hand signs, he casts a protective barrier around her.

He doesn't close the door, as he's sure now that Naruto won't be able to wake her up.

When he goes back to the living room, his wife is still talking, so he walks into the kitchen instead.

"Hey, bastard. Want ramen?"

Naruto is with chopsticks in his hands, and three empty bowls of ramen around him on the table. With a disgusted face, he scowls. "I don't eat ramen for breakfast, dobe."

"What'd you call me?"

"You called me bastard first."

"Because you are!"

"Hn."

He sits on a chair in front of him, and he doesn't notice how Naruto wearily looks at him from across the small table, with a suspenseful pause in his eating, and a pink-haired friend in mind he doesn't want to witness hurt.

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"He doesn't stop kicking," she speaks, with a slightly worried expression painted on her face, and Sakura frowns.

"What is it?"

Hinata puts a lock of hair behind her ear and sighs. "Is it," she touches her lower belly, "is it normal? So many kicks?"

"Why, yes," Sakura smiles fondly, "Sarada didn't kick much, but every mother is different."

Hinata caresses her belly in thought. "I see."

"You'll give birth in no time."

"I still have a few weeks left."

Remembering how Sarada came to the world—with hurried steps and cold sweats and almost no time to get to Karin's hideout—she unconsciously shivers. Sarada was born almost a month before Sakura was due.

She looks at Hinata.

"You always need to be ready," she takes a breath, unconsciously avoiding her friend's surprised gaze in order to focus on the floor, sudden memories coming afloat in her mind. "You never know."

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It's at noon when they decide to return home.

They refuse to eat at Hinata's house, out of pure courtesy and not wanting to disturb—all of it from Sakura's side, for Sasuke had merely stood aside and watched. ("Sakura-chan! I have ramen you could eat!" Apologetic smiles and, "I surely don't want to intrude any further. Please excuse us." Hinata smiled at her and Naruto frowned. "But Sakura-chan! You can-" Sakura twitched, "I said no, idiot!" Naruto only nodded, scratching the pain in the back of his head.)

Now they walk around Konoha, a few streets away from their house and with a still-sleeping Sarada in a car. Sasuke walks beside her.

She slows the baby car down—without even realising it—just to extend walking alongside him in the quiet of the late morning air.

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She prepares lunch.

They eat in silence, but that is no anomaly. They barely ever talk while eating.

Sarada's in her room sleeping, after eating her own food again.

They share no thoughts.

Sakura finishes her meal before him, and she waits until he's done so she can get up and gather the dirty dishes. Somehow, he manages to get up before her; he takes the plates and the cups in his hand—she doesn't know how he achieves all of that with just one hand, it's beyond her—and leaves to the sink.

The faucet sounds with water flowing. Ahead of her, there's a vase holding arranged flowers, and magazines piled up on the side of the dining table; she stares at them as time passes by, not blinking until she feels tears well up and she has to take them back, back into the sockets of her eyes and away.

The chair screeches when she pushes herself away.

Maybe she should forget about it all. Maybe, she should forget Naruto's visit and Ino's late-night conversation and Sasuke's truth. Maybe, it would be best if her memories push the harsh and cold words from her friends away and forever forgotten. Maybe, it would be best for them all. For her.

Sasuke's washing the dishes as she turns the corner and steps into the kitchen.

It's something he's done so many times since they married, but yet she never tires from looking at him perform little acts. Household chores are normally left to her, but most likely he always finds a way to help her.

She can't help but allow a smile form on her face.

She should forget; she should forget; she should forget. The mantra repeats inside her head like a simple rhythm, just as she's taking the first step. And it's easier as the phrase repeats itself over and over again in her mind, and she's almost touching the white cotton around his torso.

It's when her arms envelop his middle from behind, when she feels him relax under her palms, when she almost sighs of contentment, that she starts forgetting the reason why she was angry the day before. The fingers on his abdomen tighten even more and the head resting on his back tilts back to plant a little kiss where the neck begins to form.

The water stops flowing; he deposits the last plate on the side to dry.

Turning around, slowly, he looks at her; she looks back at him. Mismatched eyes stare at her quietly. Her arms are against her sides, for she can't touch him now. Nevertheless, her gaze, she is sure, is on the same level of intensity that meets her.

A shriek is heard throughout the house when he captures her hair in sticky residue. "Sasuke-kun!"

He does not laugh—what a strange thing if he did—but a small tilt of his lips is proof enough to her that he finds the sight amusing. She sighs, frustrated, with ever-growing helplessness. "I already showered in the morning!"

Her hair is full of dish soap, freezing water, and humiliating wetness. When she touches it and makes a face of disgust, he almost grins at her expression. Not really, though.

There is a sound, and he turns to the sink. There is a sound, and water is running again before it's shut off. And Sasuke turns around once again to face her.

Her eyes search his after being too preoccupied with the messy state of herself. They widen at the sight before her.

His hair is in the same state as hers.

There are no words she can mutter, so he beats her to it first.

"We can shower again."

It takes her a minute to process what he says, and when she does, her eyes leave his in embarrassment. She blushes.

He takes her hand.

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They shower together. There is nothing sexual about it, neither embarrassing—they share a tub and they help each other clean themselves, but it only goes up to small touches and innocent rubs.

She blushes the entire time. He saves the memory, of her next to him in the shower, in his mind.

Later, he watches Sarada feeding from her mama, silently peaceful at the image. It's all perfect; both of them are perfect. He wonders if he can ever deserve them, if he can ever be enough—he doesn't find an answer.

And at night, they're not aloof and distant. They're not angry and sad.

Sasuke makes love to her over and over until the sun is about to rise over the horizon and her pleas for release after her nth orgasm are too loud. The aftermath is full of caresses and whispers from her loving part. It is then that he knows he will never deserve her, or his beloved daughter, but he will try his best.

She doesn't really get to sleep, and with enough repetition of the short phrase thought during lunch, she finally forgets.


	6. Waiting for the Sun

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been a few months, and let me tell you that I pushed myself to post something before the new year, believe me. I have already written the next chapter for _It's a Humble Path_ , so that's coming soon too. Also, I've been writing a one-shot, hence the wait (it doesn't help that I'm extremely lazy, btw). Well, here you go, slightly longer than the last chapter. Please leave your wonderful reviews! Trust me, they help.

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She's asleep when she feels a disturbance in the air. Goosebumps trail along her arms and her brows draw together subconsciously.

There's a sound in the back of her mind; it sounds quite like the clinking of metal against metal. Fabrics are being rustled and gripped and she draws back from her peaceful dream toward reality.

Lying comfortably on her bed, both arms under the covers and the upper half part of her head showing from under, her nose twitches with the need to heighten her senses. She lies on her left side on the bed, facing away from the door of her bedroom. Feigning being asleep, she slowly turns to lie on her back, covers still hiding the parts from her mouth and down.

At her movement, though, the sounds stop altogether. It's so sudden that she quickly stops pretending she's asleep.

She slowly opens an eye, which lands on the tall silhouette that stands at the foot of the bed; she opens a second eye and squints, really, to quietly voice her confusion.

The fact that the person standing at the foot of the bed is her husband doesn't surprise her much, as she knew from the start of her awakening—it is the fact that he _is_ just standing there that makes her a bit wary.

He takes a few steps toward her and she stills, looking for any anomalies that he might carry. Sleep is forgotten as she widens her eyes a little, getting used to the dark.

Sasuke is wearing his training clothes—she moves her head to the left with a heavy heart to groggily gaze at the time on the clock that's next to the bed, on her nightstand, but she stops herself from moving more than an inch.

She barely manages to turn around in bed, for her husband is suddenly next to her, looking down at her with a blank expression. His hair falls messily at the sides of his face when he moves—she thinks that she should cut the tips, since they already touch his shoulders.

He's still looking at her.

Before she can ask what's wrong, her eyes traveling along his face, he bends down next to her, and softly kisses her forehead.

It's not much; it's just a fast landing of his lips on her skin, but it makes her heart swell and beat faster all the same, and her eyes flutter close altogether because it _feels_ like she's dreaming. But she knows she's not.

She doesn't notice when he steps away. The only sign she gets is the sudden coldness on her skin where once there was warmth and that's how she knows he has moved away. In an instant, her eyes open to look at her husband.

She hears the fabric of his clothes move as he walks away. She stares for a moment.

The first thing she does is gaze at the broad expanse of her husband's back retreating away, and the second thing she does is grab his hand. Not even taking a second step, he tenses up and stops.

She thinks he's going to continue walking, but he turns around, waiting for the words she's bound to say.

His gaze makes her feel electric for a short second.

Her lips are dry in the chill of the night when she speaks.

"Please, be here by lunch," he swears his heart stops beating, "darling."

Her voice is soft and tiny as a quiver and she's looking at him so he simply nods, knowing that he had plenty of hours to train.

The fact that he was going to be present at lunch, anyway, isn't voiced as he looks away. He looks back at her and gives a small smile, one that he only ever shows her.

Her hand gives his the smallest of squeezes before letting go; her eyes close immediately, confident that her husband will return to eat the main meal of the day with her.

He hesitates, only if just a little, looking at her delicate face and the pink hair that's all over the pillow her head's under; looking at her lithe form hidden under the covers—which he knows is bereft of clothing—before sighing and finally turning around and walking away. He leaves.

It's four in the morning.

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Less than three hours later, Sarada wakes up with a small wail.

Sakura already has her black, silk robe on (one of Sasuke's presents from a few months ago, although every time she mentions how he left it perfectly folded on their bed he denies it) when she hears it—she sighs and moves her hair into a low, casual bun.

Sarada's room is beige, for the most part. There are some brown and pink undertones, but mostly it's just beige; whites and browns and pinks and yellows here and there, occasionally. So it's understandable when the first thing someone can notice when entering the room is the Uchiha clan emblem on the opposite wall, at the center, right over Sarada's crib. The red stands out like a mosquito bite would on Sai. It doesn't help that it's a little big in size—decent, but large all the same. Sakura looks at it every time she goes inside the room, and she smiles as soon as she notices the Haruno clan symbol right on top of the Uchiha symbol.

Next to the crib, on the right, there's a brown and yellow toy chest full of plushies and gifts Sarada has received over her short life. Directly across from it, to the right of the door, there's a rocking chair standing at the corner. The rest of the room is vast of any other object; there is a small, tall window on the wall to the left, and a large, beige rug occupying most of the wooden floor space. Other than that, there's nothing else. It's a simple room, and it's so Sasuke-style that Sakura had to scoff at the end result back when she decorated the room.

She takes small steps into the room, and Sarada stops whining.

It is with learnt patience that she takes Sarada in her arms, sits on the rocking chair in the far corner of the room, and moves aside the part of the robe that covers her breast; Sarada immediately finds it and starts feeding.

In spite of the sharp breaths she has to take from time to time—from Sarada's pulls and toothless bites—it's relaxing, in a way, when mornings like this happen.

Who could have thought she was going to survive a shinobi war, buy her own apartment, travel the world, marry the love of her life, and have the most precious child all in not even half of her lifetime.

She rocks Sarada, slowly, once she finishes eating, and covers her breast with the dark fabric of the robe once again.

She lets her let out her gases. And, soon enough, Sakura stands up with a sleeping Sarada in her arms. She walks to the living room on light steps; Sarada only breathes deeply, lost in sleep.

Not faster than a turtle, she reaches the dimly-lit living room—the only sources of lighting come from the adjacent kitchen window and the uncovered window next to the entrance door.

The room is pretty open. There are wooden floors and white walls; the furniture is white and brown and green and yellow and Sakura loves every object in the house (after all, Ino helped her decorate it).

She, listlessly, covers the window that's next to the main door once again with dark curtains, and sighs at the same time Sarada expels out a tinier bit of air.

It's still morning, so Sakura rules out the idea of cooking so early, not when she has her daughter like this in her arms. Her thin pyjama onesie wrinkles when Sakura holds her close to her chest; Sarada contently rests her head on her mother's shoulder, her little mouth partly open and her cheeks round like a squirrel's. Sakura chuckles at the comparison.

Her eyes travel toward a small, square table in the only dark corner of the living room. She hesitates, looking at Sarada and hearing the audible sound of silence. But then she shakes her head and lightly moves her feet until she's standing in front of the table.

Sasuke had bought the stereo. It was an old thing, dirty and with scratches from bumps and just wasted away, used and used and used. But it was Sasuke's, so she'd decided to keep it; she remembers how he briefly explained how that stereo belonged to Itachi when he was little, bought with his own money and given to his older brother as a birthday present. She remembers perfectly how he wanted to leave it behind, and how something flashed in his eyes when she insisted on keeping it. It hadn't been used in years, she supposes.

She sighs, and connects it to the wall's plug, staring at the object when it lights up in blue colours. The machine makes a few noises here and there, and flashes on the screen words that she has to squint at in order to discern. "No disc," it reads.

She sighs; of course she had no discs, this thing was more than a decade old!

Not letting the obstacle deter her course, she bites her lip, reading the tiny buttons along the stereo.

There's no disc, but surely there must be a radio station, right? Thinking back, she doesn't remember Konoha having any radio stations.

She purses her lips and moves a round button, testing the volume. When it reaches "3," she stops moving it. Then, she moves an adjacent one around. There's static, and she almost gives up, but then she can hear drums on the other end. She turns it a bit more and she hears people talking.

So, there is a Konoha radio station, after all.

She finds a song that's purely piano-based, and raises the volume loud enough so she can hear it, but so that Sarada can't be bothered by it.

Clutching the pyjama with her open hand on Sarada's small back, she walks to the middle of the living room.

She starts swaying, moving so delicately that the baby can't dare notice. So gracefully that she feels like a feather.

She hums to the notes of this unknown melody, even if there are no vocals and it's only keys being played slowly. She doesn't mind, though, for Sarada's in her arms and she's having her first official dance with her daughter—she snorts at her own thoughts.

And so she stays dancing.

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Sasuke arrives exactly at two o'clock in the afternoon.

He locks the door once again from the inside and turns to walk down the short hallway.

He's sweaty and tired and there are some parts of his body that may or may not be covered in blood—he hasn't really checked, per se, but he swears he feels the dry substance sticking to his skin with a raw need to itch. His fingers shake with the urge to scratch, yet he refrains from doing so.

As soon as he passes the threshold of the house, he pauses with a clenching in his chest.

Leaned on one of the corners of the sofa lies Sakura, comfortably snuggling into the comfort of two small pillows. And in her arms there's Sarada, asleep and resting in the space between her mother's breasts.

Sasuke almost drops his keys.

He tucks them in his trouser's pocket as he walks toward the couch, but has to pause in his steps when he hears a soft melody; is that the sound of a saxophone?

Slowly, his head turns to the left, and his eyes widen slightly at the sight. His stereo—his brother's stereo—playing barely audible songs in the background.

He's at a loss of words, for a moment, but soon strolls to the object and turns it off with a push from his finger on the right button, as if the action is unconscious, a common thing to do.

He unplugs it and sets his hand through his hair, and he sighs.

It's after a minute or two that he decides dwelling on nostalgic memories is not the best thing to do right now, and so he turns around and walks past the couch and into another hallway, until he enters his room and he has to close his eyes and count to ten to be able to properly breathe again.

Itachi's image is pushed away as he takes off his training vest. He undresses himself until it's only underwear that he's sporting.

Sasuke walks back to the living room, enters the kitchen and grabs a cup to fill it up with water.

Although he's in the kitchen, and the house is engulfed in silence, he can perfectly hear Sakura's breathing and Sarada's little puffs of air without even trying.

He sets the cup on the counter after drinking the needed water, and walks back to the living room.

His eyes spot his family quickly.

He's facing them from the opposite side of the sofa—his first line of vision is Sakura's legs, then her stomach, then Sarada, and then their faces, which are a bit hidden from the position he's in.

From this angle, he can tell his daughter has her arms in a mess around Sakura's arms; he can tell how his wife has her arms around Sarada like a protective belt, not too loose and not too tight; he can tell how Sarada's hair is as dark as his own from the lack of lighting in the living room; he can tell how his wife's parted knees are up, perfectly sees without the need of his sharingan how she's still naked under her rolled-up robe.

His lips twitch with the upcoming smile. He represses it.

Slowly, he walks to Sarada when her face morphs into a grimace, discomfort written across her innocent features.

He bends down quickly, this time, to wrap his only arm around his daughter, carefully avoiding touching Sakura to wake her up. His wife's arms loosen up, and for that he's glad. He doesn't want to wake her up.

He's pretty sure Sarada wants to wake her mother up, though, and so his hand holds her head close to his body like Sakura had taught him, and her body trails along the rest of his arm.

She immediately curls up into him, the warmth of his naked chest giving her safety, and he doesn't bother repressing this smile.

Sakura doesn't wake up, thankfully. She's probably tired from getting no sleep the night before, and he vaguely has an idea of exactly _why_.

Before he can imagine things, his feet carry him to Sarada's room. He enters, walks to the crib, and deposits her there with a care that his hands don't really possess anymore; still, he somehow manages to put her there gently.

He stares at her sleeping form for a few seconds, and walks out the room, leaving the door ajar.

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After taking a shower, his small wounds sting painfully.

He pays them no mind, though, and dresses himself with pyjama bottoms and a white, sleeveless shirt.

He starts taking steps toward the door of his room, and gets a glimpse of his left arm—or the lack of—in his wall mirror, before he quickly leaves to the living room once again.

He has accustomed to remain without his left arm, and Sakura has accepted it. Only once did she discuss the topic of regaining his arm back, and only once was enough for her to accept that he didn't want it; he didn't deserve it.

He passes by Sarada's room, and continues on until he's in the living room, staring at the empty space on the couch. He stays rooted in place for a good three seconds.

"Sasuke-kun!" He turns around just in time to feel Sakura's lips on his own. It's quick and it's soft and it leaves him breathless. "Sorry for falling asleep, I didn't even notice you." She rubs the back of her head much like a blond ninja he knows too well. He nods. She smiles at him.

"Anyway, let's go. Dinner is ready."

The smell of warm, cooked food fills his senses so strongly that he's confused at how he'd missed it before.

Sakura takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen, and he allows himself to look at her with a warmth that no one ever gets to see.

"Aa."

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 **A/N #2:** If it wasn't clear enough, _yes_ , that is her vagina/privates he's looking at from the kitchen while her knees are up. For anyone who didn't understand my messy writing. K, bai.


	7. Supernovas

**A/N:** Who's dying to read some angst? Well grab your tissues and read on cuz this chapter is full of angst. It's short, I know, but I felt like ending it there was better. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and review to let me know. (I posted the last part of my two shot _Lightly_ yesterday and today I'm posting a chapter for this story; it's the first time I post two days in a row, yay!) Btw, the next few chapters are going to be light to make up for the dark themes here. Well, light in most parts xD I'll update as soon as I can, bai!

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 _ **Leave.**_

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Sasuke has a nightmare two days later.

His bangs stick to his sweaty forehead and his eyes close shut with self-inflicted, unconscious pressure. His breath comes out in rapid puffs of air and his heart beats faster than anyone's should while asleep.

The piercing screams are what wakes Sakura up.

It's not unusual, per se, to wake up to these sounds; she has been waking up to screams and curses and rough turns in bed for a long time now: months and months. And yet, she can't dare but be startled, now, twice as more as she would've been a month ago. Because, lately, Sasuke hasn't had any nightmares at all. A couple of days ago he had one, but that seems so far away now, and a couple of days is a lot of days for him, since he used to have them every single day before.

So Sakura, all peaceful and relaxed, wakes up with a gasp and a frantic look around.

And while he's in the middle of a war with his own treacherous mind, she's in a battle with her brain's sense of imminent danger. But she takes note of the situation quickly enough. It's only when she turns her head, while sitting on the bed next to him, and sees his painful expression that she calms down a little.

She's as fast as lightning when she gathers him in her arms with firm hands and a soft gaze, the familiarity of the action making her sigh with a worried expression. The nightmares he used to have years ago, a little after the War, are gone by now. Sometimes, he's even told her that there are nights when he dreams about his family; walks around the village with his father, cooking sessions with his mother, and training with Itachi. No more nightmares about them, just good memories.

Sakura gets more worried, though, because there were reasons why he once had nightmares about a massacre. The impact of that experience must have hit him hard.

But, what are the reasons why he has nightmares about his current, living family getting killed?

Sakura holds him closer, and almost dares to ask a question that's been plaguing her mind for weeks, about whether he's happy with them or not.

What other reason could there be? They haven't hurt him in any way. They haven't tried to make him unhappy. On the contrary, the birth of Sarada should have brought happiness to him. The ambiguity of it all makes her look at him for a few long seconds, as if the action itself will dispel his nightmares away.

Sakura kisses the top of his head, soft, dark tendrils caressing her chin and making her hand run through them. She holds him close with the other hand; her back screams at her to move from this uncomfortable position, but she barely listens.

He only shudders against her, shivering uncontrollably.

In a world in which he does't belong, a world that doesn't exist, and a world too distorted to be real but too realistic to be fake, he finds himself staring at her.

Her hair is swaying in the breeze of the cool evening; her voice is calling to him; her arms are trying to reach his far-away form. It's all in vain, and it all seems like a bad joke, because he's just staring at her. Not even a muscle is moving in his body, not even as she gives up with only a few years in this messed up world—he dares to think if he's breathing, but he can't tell for some reason.

He'd been walking before, for sure. He'd been walking with her, her hand grasped by his larger one and four legs aligned on the path.

He is not moving now, but he had been moving before. Walking, taking a stroll at the park—or, was it a field? One of the plain, dead fields that are a recurrent characteristic in his dreams, perhaps.

He can't recall.

He recalls looking down at her lithe body, though, and the way she has grown over the years he hasn't been able to protect her like his role asked for.

It's just an image in his head, because he knows it's impossible for her to grow so fast in just a day. He knows he's dreaming—but it feels so real that he can't do anything but keep admiring her imaginary beauty. How old is she? Seven? Eight? Her hair reaches her shoulders in a mess of black hair which is slightly spiky at the ends, similar, but not really like his own at that age. Her hand feels soft in his own. Her clothes are red and white like her mother's at that age.

She looks at him, and he gets to catch her eyes in the dying sun's light. His breath catches in his throat and he swallows, slowly blinking because she resembles his wife so much it hurts. It shouldn't be this way, right? Her eyes are supposed to be black, black like his own. They're green.

In a second, she suddenly lets go of his hand and walks in front of him a few more steps, saying "papa! Papa, look at me!" And she's laughing and ready to show him whatever she pleased. He knows what's going to happen the moment he sees figures approaching her, but he doesn't do anything and she turns around too late, before stopping at the blade embedded in her stomach.

All he does is stare.

He wants to scream, to fight, to _move_. Unfortunately, he can't. Because as soon as she lets go, he becomes still on his spot, rooted in place and fragile like a decaying tree.

And he just watches as her mouth spills blood on the ground; watches as a foreign hand grasps at her throat; watches as a second blade runs through her innocent heart, and a kunai runs through her head, right where her young brain is supposed to be. Punches make their way onto her body. Several Shuriken cut through her skin layers without much difficulty. It's all so fast that he can only make out the blood. So thick and red and so saturated in this faded world it's the only thing he pays attention to. It slowly reaches his stationary feet.

And with it, something flows along the current. Something that makes him bite his lip and choke back a sob from the back of his throat.

Sarada. _His_ Sarada. Small and tiny and too pure, a baby lands at his feet. The last memory of Sarada is dead at his feet, and the illusion of her older self is dead in front of him.

And amidst the soundless three enemy ninjas attacking her, he can hear himself screaming somewhere in the back of his mind.

His feet are soaked in the red liquid and he thinks it's ironic, standing here with blood probably staining him for his sins.

He looks down. He can't walk, take any steps, but his arm suddenly springs into action and he bends, enveloping his arm around his baby. He stands upright again, holding the lifeless body against his bloody shirt as another sob makes its way out of his mouth.

How is it that someone can experience so much pain in a dream and never wake? The memory of his deceased brother reaches his mind, the way he ruthlessly let him suffer for hours under his illusion on the night of the massacre. But even that—even that—doesn't compare to this kind of pain. The pain of a father losing his daughter is not the same pain as a son losing his parents.

He shakes the thoughts when his eyes get hazy all over and he searches for a clear image in the dream.

And when his eyes focus, he looks up to watch the older Sarada, the head of his baby lolling to one side because he can't bring it to life—he shakes her, shakes her so much but she doesn't move, she doesn't breathe—he cracks.

Sarada's green, blank eyes stare back at him, and his imaginary world finally crumbles before him.

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When he opens his eyes in the middle of a raw scream, he's surprised he doesn't jump from the bed like a scared animal. But then, as he focuses his vision in the darkness, he feels warmth around him.

Sakura is holding him to her body, almost sitting up, but really lying down in bed. Such a position would leave soreness the next day.

His hands are grasping her robe with a force he's sure will wrinkle the material; in a way, he's glad he's desperately holding onto a material and not her skin, per se, as that had led to bruising before that he doesn't particularly like remembering.

She soothes him with a hand running through his hair—his bangs are put aside and his face is sweating, so profoundly that he fears he had wet her clothes. She doesn't mind at all, he knows, and so he stays put against her chest.

"Sasuke-kun," she whispers, her hands running slowly through his dark locks, "would you like to start taking pills for this?"

He stays quiet, intent on listening to her heartbeat and counting each beat per minute. His head rests upon her breast, and he closes his eyes again, calming his own heart.

"Sleeping pills, maybe? We could try, to see, you know, if they'd work," her voice trails off at the end, and he doesn't speak until his breathing has evened out. Her voice is a soft tune in the back of his brain, contrasting with the screwdriver drilling holes in his mind at the moment.

"Do you want to tell me?"

His dream is playing in his head right now, her heartbeat forgotten and replaced by blank stares and a useless father.

He would like to tell her, but he can't say the words. He can't voice a coherent explanation to her; he can barely explain the events to himself.

So he doesn't say anything and acts much like in his dream—he doesn't move.

Sakura stops her hands from moving; one hand in his hair and the other one on his back, previously tracing circles on his damp shirt.

He wants to tell her to continue with her soft, soothing touches. If only she knew how much that helped, how safe he felt every time she'd hold him like this. He hates to admit it to himself, how much of a child he behaves like in these situations, so he wants to tell her but he can't.

The images of his nightmare stop playing in his head when he feels a hand touch his cheek. She gasps a little, adding more pressure and taking away the moisture under his tired eyes. She murmurs a "Sasuke-kun," before wrapping her arms more securely around him.

They've known each other for too long, almost their whole lives. And they're in the privacy of their bedroom. So he stays put and lets her hold him close to her; his hand slackens around her robe, any force he had before suddenly leaving his body altogether.

"I can only imagine," she whispers, kissing his head. "I wish I could take it all away, Sasuke-kun, you know I would."

He knows. He doesn't need to hear that twice to believe her every word.

After a few minutes, and right when he feels he's about to drift away into sleep in her arms, he feels something touch his arm. He opens his eyes, finding the source of his awakening as a drop runs down his forearm. Another drop follows.

He disentangles himself from her, landing next to her on the bed, his body under his legs pushing his arm toward her face.

Catching the tears with his thumb, he makes them all go away with a sweep of his hand. And she thinks, for just a moment, she sees the hurt in his eyes. It's hard to tell in the penumbra, so she just focuses on his crimson eye and the lilac one in his left eye, shining through the darkness.

"Thank you," he whispers, and she cries harder. No sound leaves her mouth though, it's just tears rolling down her cheeks and a small, bittersweet smile making her curve her lips.

She comes closer and hugs him, leaving a butterfly kiss on his neck after a few seconds.

"Let's go to sleep, come on," she mutters, finding his hand and leading him toward the center of the bed. She lies down with him by her side, and she holds him through the rest of the night.

Usually, he would grunt and either turn away from her or hold _her_ through the night. But this is different, and he needs her right now, so she stays this way. And he only holds her closer.


	8. A New Life

**A/N:** Well, hello. I know I've taken forever to update this story but school has been giving me no inspiration. My muse left me, basically. How sad, because I've been wanting to write almost everyday but then I wouldn't be able to. Anyway, here's the new chapter, I hope you enjoy (I also fixed some grammatical mistakes and added important stuff in the last chapter, for if you want to check it out).

 **Btw** , I know I should update _It's a Humble Path_ first but I just finished this one first and I felt like, after months, I had to update _something._ Bear with me.

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"Sasuke-kun, make sure to add salt!" She shouts over in the bathroom.

The floor is wet and her hands squeeze the mop into the bucket of chemicals to drain all the water still on it. She starts the third round on the bathroom floor, finally seeing all the leftover water being swept away, leaving the floor almost dry by the time she's done.

The house is silent and she frowns when he doesn't answer her, so she takes a deep breath and shouts again. "Are you putting salt?"

It's a heartbeat before he answers over in the kitchen, a rasp morning voice that makes her smile behind a few strands of pink hair out of her ponytail.

"Yes!"

That's all he says but it's all she needs to keep scrubbing the bathroom. She moves to the hallway, and then to the living room.

Sasuke had a bad habit of forgetting to spice his food; it's always good, even a little better than her own cooking, but he never puts the damn salt unless she reminds him.

Sakura reaches on her tip-toes and tugs at the string that hangs from the fan on the ceiling, turning it on in order to dry the floor faster.

When she's done with the house, she moves to the kitchen, the only place left to clean.

The smell of food reaches her nostrils so hard that her stomach grumbles in agony. She blushes, pushing past him and starting to clean the kitchen floor with the mop.

"Don't move," she says. It's not like he's going to any time soon, anyway, sitting on the counter and waiting for the food to be done cooking in the oven. But she still tells him because it wouldn't be the first time he ruins her work by leaving a trail of footsteps behind him.

Usually, she cleans in silence. Sasuke barely opens his mouth, but instead opts to look at the things she does as if analyzing her movements. She doesn't mind this, it's a quiet kind of blush that crosses her cheeks when they lock eyes, but it's gone soon enough at the prospect of finishing her chores.

And since she's used to the silence while cleaning, she almost knocks the bucket of water while she dips the mop inside when he speaks. She looks at him. If he saw any of her almost-disastrous act, he doesn't show it at all.

"Is Sarada still asleep?" He swings his legs slightly, the counter a little too high for even his legs to reach the floor. With his only hand, he takes a bite of a yellow apple, watching as she looks at it and then motions for him to let her try.

She moves closer to him, taking two steps, and takes a bite of the apple he's holding out for her. She moves away while chewing.

"Yeah, she is." She swallows the remaining apple pieces and starts scrubbing for the third and last round. "I fed her an hour ago, so she won't wake up for a while."

She doesn't see his nod, but he doesn't try to make her see it.

"At what age do children start walking?"

Sakura stops her movements immediately at that. Not only did he speak once, but now he's trying to make conversation with her? She moves the tendrils away with her arm. The only sound in the house is his teeth biting on the apple.

Sakura's face is such a mixture between confusion and surprise that he feels a little pang in his chest for not usually engaging in small talk with her. Surely he isn't that much of a quiet man; he talks about trivial things from time to time with her. Albeit he feels his thoughts are true, the look she gives him makes him doubt himself for a second longer.

"Oh," she resumes her cleaning, and bites her lip for a moment, thinking. She taps her index finger on the side of her lips before replying. "It depends on the child. I, for example, started walking when I was nine months old, but the process can be extended even up to sixteen months."

Sasuke doesn't say anything back, and Sakura finishes cleaning the kitchen. After putting all the cleaning utensils where they belong and turning the fan on, she moves away from the room. She leans her weight on the doorframe and looks at him, feeling sweaty and tired.

"Most children start by crawling, though."

He looks back at her, and looks at the floor that's starting to dry.

"Did you?"

Sakura tilts her head. "Hm?"

"Did you crawl first?"

Sakura smiles, giggling a little at this small conversation. Sasuke's eyes are expectant and his lips are graced by a little smile and she opens her mouth to respond.

But before she can answer him, there's a loud knock at the door that makes Sakura jump from the sudden disturbance.

They immediately look at each other.

They _know_ the chakra is not from anyone they're familiar with, and that only makes Sasuke more uneasy.

Sakura looks at him still sitting on the kitchen counter and then at the entrance door.

"Don't move, Sasuke-kun, it's almost dry," she holds up a hand at his tense form and walks away from the kitchen. Sasuke scowls.

When she opens the door, there's a very built, tall man with a scar across his face waiting at the porch. Sakura thinks he might have just graduated from the academy of medicine, because there's a lab coat over his form, and he also appears to be in his early thirties. She's never seen him before, though, which makes her more distrustful of him.

As if unconsciously, she looks at the band that graces his head, and finally understands that this is a ninja from the Sand village. Was Gaara in Konoha, by any chance?

"Good morning, sir." Sakura smiles at him. She still doesn't completely open the door for him. There's a distressful look on his face.

"Mrs. Uchiha?" At Sakura's nod, he continues talking. "The Hokage requests your presence at the hospital immediately. Lady Uzumaki is in labor."

Sakura barely feels Sasuke behind her, she barely hears the two men talking because soon enough she's grabbing her keys and her phone and walking past the threshold of the house.

"I'll be back soon, take care of Sarada." She tells him as she's putting her shoes on. "If I haven't returned in four hours, please give her one of the milk bottles I have prepared in the fridge. Heat it first. "

Sasuke nods, and Sakura leaves with the Sand Shinobi.

.

.

.

The hospital is a mess. It has been around a year since the last time she visited. With the travels with Sasuke and then coming back to Konoha without having to work for a few moths because of Sarada, it feels like home when she walks in. Granted, it feels like walking into the abandoned home you haven't visited in months.

A nurse approaches her first to let her know the details but it is Naruto who she listens to, since he literally moves the nurse aside in his panicked state.

She acknowledges Kakashi in the back of the waiting room, in front of the white door that hides the room Hinata is supposed to be in. She looks back at Naruto, one of her closest friends, and nods at everything he's saying. Even though she barely catches the words, the only thing she's sure of is that Hinata is going into labor and she needs to deliver the baby the best way she can.

So she reassures her blond friend that she'll do her best, and she enters the room to watch a sweaty woman groan as the contractions come closer from each other.

.

.

.

Sakura doesn't leave the delivery room until the sun has set and the baby is safe on a little bed next to his mother's sleeping form.

Naruto stands up so fast when she goes out the room that she can't help but smile at his excitement. The room closes behind him and she's left outside with Kakashi.

"You can go inside too, you know," she says, throwing the gloves away and washing her hands at a nearby sink.

Kakashi just shakes his head while sitting down on one the blue chairs of the waiting room, looking up at her with a spark in his eyes.

"Let them be alone for a moment or two. I'll go in eventually."

Sakura smiles a little more, rinsing her hands with water and drying them. "Well then that's considerate of you, sensei. Now if you excuse me, I'll go see how the baby's vitals are doing."

She takes two steps toward the door, but a sound stops her.

He stands up and walks closer to her in long, unhurried steps. Sakura waits.

"Sakura, go home. You look tired."

Sakura wants to huff.

"I haven't worked in so long, and you know that. I want to check if the baby is okay."

"And there are many apt nurses and doctors who can check on little Boruto. You've your own waiting for you at home."

She wants to protest, but as his words sink in, she closes her mouth and sighs with a happy set of eyes.

"Fine, fine, I'll leave. But make sure to find a good doctor to take care of them you hear me? Hinata and the baby have to stay here for at least two days. Tell them that I said that."

"Sure thing, Dr. Haruno."

She takes a step, but pauses and looks back at him.

"It's Dr. Uchiha now, you old man. Starting to forget things?"

He only laughs.

Taking off her coat, she heads for her office, but not before giving Kakashi a warm hug.

It's dark when she arrives home.

.

.

.

"Did you manage well alone?"

"Ino came by at around four. She wanted to see you but she helped with Sarada anyway." He breathes against the pillow of their bed, comfortably lying on his belly by her side. "Left half an hour ago."

"Oh, really? Did you tell her Hinata was having her baby? Oh gosh, she's probably on her way there right now." Sakura's excitement tastes sweet on his tongue, and he turns around to look at her through half-closed eyes.

She lies on her back, looking at the ceiling's fan and smiling like a fool.

"I did mention it. She wanted to know why you weren't present."

She looks at him; her smile is now a shy stretch on her rose lips. The silence goes on for a few more seconds before she breaks it.

"Thank you for waiting for me to eat dinner, Sasuke-kun."

He stays quiet, and she grabs his hand from under the covers, giving it a light squeeze.

He nods and stares into her eyes; doesn't grunt, doesn't turn away.

"Of course," he mutters.

She blushes at him and lets go of his hand, finally turning around and falling asleep.


End file.
